LAST CALL IN BUTTE MONTANA – OCT. 1978 – BAD POETRY

1974

I arrived late in Butte Montana.
The bartender at the Cowboy Bar shouted ‘Last Call’.
I ordered a whiskey and a beer chaser.
Someone put on Gram Parsons
I looked around the bar for my wife
A man in Billings said Mona might be here
He might have been right then,
But tonight he was wrong.

Last call in Butte, Montana
One whiskey, one beer
No sign on Mona
Only my eyes keep seeing her here.

A week ago I showered off off love.
I walked into the kitchen.
A towel around my waist.
No sign of Mona
Only burning eggs in a frying pan.
A note said don’t follow her to Bozeman.
I knew that was not where she had gone

Last call in Butte, Montana
One whiskey, one beer
No sign on Mona
But my eyes keep expecting her here.

I showed the bartender her photo
He said, “She came in two night ago
And then she was gone.”
I nodded my head and finished my drinks

Last call in Butte, Montana
One whiskey, one beer
No sign on Mona
Even if my eyes keep seeing her here.

“She might have gone to Missoula.
Women like her like it there just fine.”
I drop $5 on the bar and left the Cowboy Bar.
Still hurting from her leaving

And wanting to know why
But no one gets all the answers

I’m out on the street in Butte, Montana
No more whiskey. No more beer.
No sign of Mona.
But only a fool would have thought she was here.

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